


I Walk To You

by simoneallen



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-07
Updated: 2010-08-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 21:50:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/435825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simoneallen/pseuds/simoneallen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some turmoil and a heated moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Walk To You

The darkness encloses him, the hot air pressing in, making him feel breathless even as he draws the oxygen into his lungs. He walks faster and faster down the alleyway, ignoring the rasping in his chest and the way his aching legs cry out for respite. He doesn’t know where he is going but can’t stop. He can never go back to where he has been, and the only choice left is to walk. His head throbs in time with his hand, the fresh cuts on his face sting in the humidity of the night. Sweat runs in sticky tracks down his back and plasters his shirt uncomfortably to his skin, but still he moves, driven onwards by a force he doesn’t want to understand.

He emerges into the main street, into a shocking throng of bodies where he is both more and less alone amid the heaving mass of colour and noise, laughter and drums, featureless masks and frantic hysteria. The movement takes him in its arms, embracing him as one more part of an oversized whole, propelling him helplessly yet gratefully into its centre. Everything swirls dizzyingly around him, the brightness muffling the unwelcome echoes of wrongly spoken thoughts in his head. The thrum of sound is constant as static, the occasional burst of clarity cutting across it like the knife that sliced cleanly through his flesh - a shriek, a whistle, a high pitched scream of maddened laughter.

He surrenders himself to the turmoil, uncaring and unfeeling of legs that buckle, unconcerned by the street that reaches up to welcome him anonymously to where a thousand feet might trample and destroy. The colours and lights dance and sparkle in peaceful harmony as he gladly gives in to their call.

When his fall is halted, the shock is physical in its suddenness and his body recoils at the startling betrayal of momentum. Caught in a second that feels like forever, he’s held upright in an unwanted instant of stillness. Pressed from all sides by sultry, revelling bodies, he sees only the deep darkness of eyes that look through the mask and right inside him to everything carefully hidden. They force him to stay, their unspoken command as compelling as the steely grip that holds him there in that moment. Fury grips him, like an angry river contained by a dam that has held for an unyielding age; torrents of rage aimed at this unbidden rescuer.

All around, the bodies writhe in the hot, hedonistic frenzy of fiesta, and still he is held, pushed against this other by an uncaring crowd. He reaches out and roughly pulls him closer, gasping at the hardness of the body that melds to his own. The dark eyes widen and he meets them with a challenge driven by a reckless rage and desperate need. An amber flicker of recognition and the other bends to him. As lips touch his, the heat makes him dizzy and he grasps the back of the stranger’s head, twining his fingers in the silky softness of his hair as he thrusts his tongue into a willingly open mouth. He doesn’t think, he doesn’t feel. He knows only the oblivion of want that crashes over him.

The hand that sneaks inside his clothing is hotter than any that has touched him before. He feels it brand him. His chest, his stomach, his sudden throbbing hardness. He gasps as the heated fingers close around him. He pulls his head back and looks into the other’s eyes. A challenge given. A challenge accepted. The hand begins to pump him. Everything around him vanishes and the touch is all that’s real. All he knows or wants. He comes quickly. A release. A relief. He pushes his face into the other’s shoulder and is held close. The embrace is tight. Strong. Then, as quickly as it was given, it is gone. The stranger is swallowed by the crowd. His darkness taken away into the swell of writhing bodies.

He stares after him for a moment and makes a decision. He turns and walks against the tide.

 

 ****

 

“James T Kirk, step forward.”

He walks forwards. Aware of every eye that’s on him. He will face his accuser. He has that right. A noise to his side and he turns to him. He meets the darkness of eyes that see right inside him, and he smiles.

A challenge is given. A challenge is accepted.

 

 

  
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://ksarchive.com/viewstory.php?sid=2070>  



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